


Those who survived, and those that didn't

by Lakritzwolf



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 08:33:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3440531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakritzwolf/pseuds/Lakritzwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the Battle of the five Armies, Bilbo saves Thorin's life again. This time, however, the hobbit is not as lucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those who survived, and those that didn't

Major character death 

 

This is where it ends.

With Azog’s triumphant howl in his ears he will die, and the knowledge gives him a cold shudder, but also a strange sense of calm and piece. It is over. 

The pale orc smiles in anticipation, if one can call that grimace of cruelty a smile. There is only one way to go now, and Thorin knows what to do. This fight will have no winner. No one will walk away. Not he and not Azog. 

Azog lifts his vile blade and Thorin is ready for it, ready to take it, and take the Defiler with him. Their eyes lock, and Azog swings his arm.  
Something small hauls itself out of the shadows at the pale orc with a scream of fury and defiance. Thorin stumbles back. The hobbit...

But even before he can blink, Azog howls again in triumph, and to his utter horror, Thorin sees Bilbo hanging limp from the blade, impaled like a skewered vermin. 

“NO!” All sense of danger vanishes. “NOO!”  
Azog spins around to face him, shakes the hobbit off his blade like a rag doll to ready his blade, but spurned on by battle frenzy, fury and despair, Thorin is faster. He buries his sword in Azog’s guts, and while the swing of the orc’s blade grazes him, it is a comparatively harmless wound.

Their eyes met again, Azog’s milky blue eyes burning with fury. Thorin jerks his blade free and with a scream that echoes almost back to the gates of Erebor, he swings the Goblin Cleaver in a wide arc, cleanly beheading his foe. When the body of Azog the Defiler crumbles at his feet, Thorin freezes for a few seconds, hardly believing he succeeded, hardly believing he survived. 

Bilbo. It was Bilbo saving his life. Again. But this time, he was not as lucky. Thorin carelessly drops his sword and runs to where the hobbit lies. He carefully turns him around and hears the hobbit groan in pain. He is still alive.

“Bilbo!” Thorin settles him down, resting his head on his left arm. “Don’t move! Don’t move! Lie still...”  
Then he perceives the extent of the hobbit’s injuries. Coldness settles inside him that has little to do with the ice around him.

The hobbits eyes come to rest on his face, and through the pain, he smiles at Thorin. “I’m glad you’re here... I wish to part from you in friendship.”  
”No, no. You are not going anywhere, Bilbo,” Thorin tries to protest. “You’re going to live.” But deep down, he knows. And in Bilbo’s eyes he can see the hobbit knows, as well. He takes one of Bilbo’s hand in his, eyes locked into Bilbo’s. 

“I will take back my words and my deeds at the gate,” Thorin says, his voice rough and unsteady. Bilbo shakes his head, trying to protest, but he is too weak already. Thorin gently increases the pressure of his hand, looking intensely into Bilbo’s eyes, willing him to understand. “You did what only a true friend would do. Forgive me. I was too blind to see it. I… I’m so sorry that I have lead you into such peril.”

“No, no.” Bilbo’s voice is a hardly audible rasp, a trickle of blood runs from the corner of his mouth. “I’m glad to have shared in your perils, Thorin.” He can feel Bilbo closing his fingers weakly around the king’s. “Each and every one of them.It is far more than... than any Baggins deserves.”

Thorin leans closer, partly because he hardly understands his words, partly because... because he wants to be closer. For these last few precious moments. He is not ready for this.

Bilbo tries to smile, through all that pain, he still tries to smile. “Farewell, my King,” he breathes.  
Thorin shakes his head in fruitless denial.  
“I know I... I wanted to go back,” Bilbo rasps breathlessly. “Go back to my books... and my armchair... plant my trees... watch them... watch them grow...” A tear trickles down the hobbit’s cheek, washing a white line into the grime and blood. “If only... if more people… valued home… above gold… this world would be a merry place.” He tries again to smile at Thorin, as if he was trying to make a feeble joke, but the pain takes the smile as soon as it appears.

“No!” Thorin blinks desperately against the hot moisture in his eyes. “No, no, no! Bilbo!”  
The hobbit’s eyes begin to lose their focus.  
“Don’t you dare!” It is a sound of blank despair, of pain, and of denial. “Hold on, hold on, please...” He presses Bilbo’s head against his shoulder, touching his forehead against the hobbit’s. 

A shadow passes overhead. Another follows, and Thorin looks up. “The eagles are here. The... the eagles... Bilbo...” Thorin places a hand on the hobbit’s chest, but Bilbo’s eyes stare lifelessly past him. 

Thorin’s head falls forward with a sob. After a moment, however, he throws it backward, screaming out his sorrow in a long, drawn out howl of pain. 

Dwalin and Balin find him, after how long a time, he cannot say. Thorin refuses to surrender the hobbit to Dwalin to carry, so his old brother-in-arms helps him up and walks silently beside him. 

They bury the hobbit close to the gates of Erebor, and as a final gift, Thorin gives him the acorn, the one from Beorn’s garden, gently placing it between the cold and lifeless fingers. 

As time passes by, the King under the Mountain is often seen wandering outside the gates. Tending to a sapling, then to a young tree.

As time passes by, the tree grows into a fine oak, albeit still young. The trunk has reached a girth to lean comfortably against, the low branches creating a large canopy above. It stands alone, has room to grow, so it grows slowly. The King often sits there, listening to the wind rustling in the leaves.  
Sometimes, he thinks he can hear a voice. It makes him smile.

When Thorin finally surrenders his crown the time has left its traces on both him and the tree. Thorin spends his time sitting under the branches that reach around him like the arms of a friend.

They find him here one evening, sitting with his back against the tree. He looks asleep. But he is not. His eyes are open, but see no more.

Yet he smiles.

Whatever he saw in his final moment, it has finally given him peace.


End file.
